


you, me, and the ocean between

by orphan_account



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27520531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Riza and Roy are pressured to get married, but Riza refuses to let this make things different between them.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 10
Kudos: 71





	you, me, and the ocean between

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BubblySage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubblySage/gifts).



> i held a lil raffle for 100+ followers on socmed and [bubbly](https://twitter.com/bubblysage) won on twt! congrats and thanks for participating, i hope you enjoy the read! ♡♡♡

Grumman is a wily old coot who probably wouldn’t die even if someone tried to kill him, but even he has to retire.

Amestris still isn’t a democracy, not by a long shot, but the people have demanded that their voices be heard, and Grumman has had the good sense to take their pleas into consideration, especially because the entire country had to be rebuilt in order to root out the sleeper cells of homunculi loyalists and sympathizers.

That said, there are only two real candidates he deems eligible to hold his post at the top of the military—Mustang and Armstrong.

Armstrong’s team is hardy, a legion of fighters hardened by the brutally effective training regime of the bodybuilding family. Mustang’s team, on the other hand, is more about brains than brawn; they’re cunning creatures, the whole lot of them, his granddaughter included. He can’t say that he doesn’t have a soft spot for Mustang because of their shared history and shared dreams, but it doesn’t pay to play _nice_ in politics.

He’d taught Mustang that lesson the hard way.

Now, though, faced with the cruel fact that his time is running out, Grumman has to make a decision.

He has time for one last game with the feisty little go-getter he’s been teasing with the prospect of taking on his job for years.

* * *

When the letter arrives on his desk, Mustang’s first instinct is to throw it in the trash. “Now, now,” Hawkeye insists, pushing the envelope more firmly under her superior’s nose. “He’s looked out for you plenty of times in the past. The least you can do is read his correspondence personally.”

“Easy for you to say,” Mustang grumbles.

Though Grumman has never expressly told anyone other than Mustang about his relationship to Hawkeye, he’s always been soft on his granddaughter, his only living relative. Besides which, though it’s true that Grumman has gotten Mustang out of a few sticky situations over the years, his rise to power as the Führer-President of Amestris had come about from his throwing Major General Armstrong and the then-Colonel Mustang under the bus, casting them off as traitors of the state, if only momentarily.

Mustang has long since shaved off his mustache and beard at Hawkeye’s behest, what with the blonde woman coolly reminding him that the facial hair did nothing to help him seem older, and had, if anything, made him seem like he was trying too hard to curry favor with the social elite. Still, it’s comforting to stroke his chin where the hair _should_ be, gloves rasping against his five o’clock shadow.

He sighs as he runs a blade down the envelope, being careful not to disturb the thick parchment of the letter folded inside.

 _Dear General Mustang_ , which Grumman only calls him when he’s being annoying and he knows someone else is going to have to read his mail to make sure there are no state secrets being traded by accident.

_It has come to my attention that I had best choose someone to be the next Führer, or else. The people have been clamoring for someone homely and reputable. A family man. Bradley was many things, but on the surface, people found him, his wife, and his son to be shining paragons of society._

_I am an old man, and thus it was deemed acceptable for me to inherit the title without a family to join me in the Capital Estate._ Mustang audibly snorts. Grumman has long been a more notorious flirt than he had been back in the day, which Mustang chalks up to the Führer _actually_ hitting on women a quarter of his age and being reprimanded by his staff for doing so. _Therefore, if you truly wish to further your political career, I believe it would be in your interests to get married._

_Best of luck,_

_F.P. Grumman._

Dread laces through Mustang like a bullet. Noting the color draining from his face, Hawkeye’s expression softens slightly, putting a hand on her superior’s shoulder as she leans down to whisper in his ear. “What’s wrong?”

Mustang resists the urge to burn the letter right then and there, scowling fiercely, his dark eyes made even darker with fury. “Your grandfather is a sick bastard, that’s what.”

* * *

The thing is, it’s not the first time Grumman has insinuated that Mustang should get married, or, more specifically, that Mustang should hurry up and marry Hawkeye if he knows what’s good for him.

It’s not exactly as though Mustang disagrees. Having a wife _would_ be advantageous, politically-speaking, and Grumman has always taught him to move all of his pieces in a way that would lead to certain victory.

The problem isn’t that he doesn’t love Hawkeye, because he does. Wholly, unconditionally, with every fiber of his being. Riza Hawkeye is a woman he doesn’t deserve, but a strange set of circumstances has kept them together anyways, and he would never do anything to tarnish the trust he’s slowly built between them over the years.

The problem is that it’s not _fair_. It’s not fair that Riza, Grumman’s _granddaughter_ , should have to become a pawn in their little game. It’s not fair that either of them should be treated like puppets on strings for the Führer’s amusement, even if he isn’t an absurdly powerful superhuman trying to kill everyone in the country for the sake of his father’s goal of transcending humanity, breaking all the rules and limits of life to become an existence as close to god as one could achieve, like Führer King Bradley before him.

There are eyes everywhere, and thus, it’s rare for Mustang to meet Hawkeye at a location that his aunt hasn’t vetted for him ahead of time, but if Grumman’s really serious about trying to pressure them into doing this, he needs to talk to her alone, in private, as far away from a bar or a brothel as possible.

That only leaves one real choice for their meeting place—his apartment.

Hawkeye, for one, is sensible about the whole thing, simply heaving a sigh, folding her arms over her chest. Her hair is down, and she looks a little softer that way, with wrinkles beginning to form at her brow from stress. “You know he’s not going to give up until he gets his way.”

Mustang takes a seat beside her on the couch, putting his hand over hers. “I don’t have to let him win.” He wants Hawkeye to live _her_ dreams, and he knows that they don’t involve becoming a pleasant little housewife without a gun living in the Führer’s opulent estate with him.

Hawkeye glares at him, chilling him to the bone until Mustang feels compelled to look away, embarrassed by his somewhat childish outburst. After a moment, she sighs again, letting him know that she’s not really angry. “It’s something we should consider, at least.”

“I refuse to strip you of your title.” Mustang grimaces, dark gaze fixed on something on the other side of the room. “If anything, I should give you a promotion. Free reign over the secret service, at the very least.”

They both know that his ambitions will always come first despite his bleeding heart screaming at him to ask Hawkeye if she really knows what she’s agreeing to, and though Mustang has no intentions of forcing Hawkeye to become a docile woman trapped in a cage, it _would_ be nice to know that they could finally enjoy having their relationship be out in the open. That they wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore, aware that a scandal breaking out for a man and a woman who have been superior and subordinate for the greater part of twenty years would ruin all of Mustang’s plans that he’s been working on, since coming from the Eastern branch to Central after his stint in Ishval.

“Whatever you decide on, I’ll be alright.” Hawkeye smiles as she toys with his hair, which is getting too long to hang down in his face. “I’ll protect you.”

Mustang bites his lip to keep from saying _I wish you would protect yourself_ , gratefully nodding his head instead.

* * *

“Well, well.” Edward Elric is a tough one to pin down these days, what with his countless hours of research to be had all over the continent. “Look who the cat dragged in.”

Mustang had gotten lucky, finding his old subordinate at his wife’s automail workshop in the countryside, saving him the trouble of a second trip. He’d sent Winry an invitation, of course, but even she’d had no idea when her husband would be home, shouting for her children to behave for a moment as she’d given Mustang her word that she would have Edward call him when he made it back to Resembool.

“I can’t believe _you’re_ finally getting married,” the little shit says, leering up at Mustang with his ponytail draped lazily over his shoulder. “And to the Lieutenant, no less. I bet she’ll find some way to keep you in line.”

Because he can never resist teasing Edward, Roy puts a hand on his hip, smirking back at the younger man. “I bet you’d like to know all the ways she _keeps me in line_ , wouldn’t you?” Edward pretends to retch, and that’s when Roy knows that he’s won.

Though Mustang is here under the pretense of asking the happy family about their RSVP status, in reality, he needs to ask Edward for a favor, so he holds back his innate urge to bicker with the blonde man and bows his head.

“I’d like for you to be my best man.”

Edward reels, and it’s obvious that it’s the last thing he’d been expecting his old boss to say. Scrutinizing him, trying to see what Mustang’s angling at, Edward frowns. “I can’t protect you if anything goes wrong,” he says, because sometimes people forget, given how prolific an alchemist he had been once, that he had given up his abilities for the sake of the future.

The taller man lets a bittersweet smile flit across his face. “I have Lieutenant Hawkeye for that.”

He can tell that Edward wants to say _at her own wedding_ , but he thinks better of it. Age has brought with it some semblance of calm to a man who’s been chewed up and spit out by the world since he was a boy. “You could’ve asked Havoc.”

“He hasn’t seen the kind of things you and I have.” By which Mustang could only mean the gate, which had once, ironically, robbed Roy of his vision. “I didn’t come here to fight. Will you do it or not, Edward?”

Cowed by Roy’s sudden and unexpected humility, Edward grows quiet. “Sure. I’ll be there.”

* * *

Riza Hawkeye is stunning in her dress, and Grumman is teary-eyed just looking at her. “You’ll make a gorgeous first lady of Amestris.”

“You didn’t have to do this.” She feels up the inside of her dress for the two guns she holstered on her thighs, plus the additional switchblade hidden between her breasts and a needle tucked into her neatly-styled hair. “I was happy with the way things were.”

“I _wasn’t_ ,” Grumman insists, slapping his granddaughter’s back with perhaps a bit more force than is strictly necessary. “I know it’s too much for me to ask of you, for you to try to relax and enjoy your wedding, but please. The security detail here is the best the country has to offer. Even your silly little boyfriend would be able to fend off any intruders if push came to shove.”

“He’ll be my husband soon,” Hawkeye muses, a sly twinkle in her eye, “and the future Führer-President of Amestris. Maybe you should watch your mouth.”

The elderly man can’t say anything to refute that, so he remains silent, ready to lead the beautiful blonde up to the altar.

Mustang is good at disguising his feelings in public, which is certainly a skill he’s honed over the years. Grumman still remembers when he’d been a hollow-eyed youth, angry and hungry for the power to change the country—it stuns Grumman to see how far Mustang has come, being able to wholly win his hard-hearted granddaughter over.

Still, there’s an obvious glimmer of emotion that flickers through his dark eyes as Riza joins him, with their hands clasped so tightly together that it feels more like they’re at a funeral than a wedding. Edward gives a rousing speech that makes the audience laugh, doing his part to win over the masses milling about through the streets. It’s been years since he was a famous Major in Central, but his name continues to carry clout, and Mustang does not deny that part of his reason in asking Edward to be his best man is to earn more of the citizens’ trust before he takes office.

They kiss on the platform to a round of wild applause, with the tiniest of the Elric children throwing flowers down the aisle.

* * *

Later that night, when they’re alone, Riza lets her hair drape over Roy’s chest, skimming her palm across his ribs. “This doesn’t change anything.”

The words come as something of a relief, so Roy smiles back up at her, tracing the thin scars that cover her body, and the crude mark of his own burns, long-healed, across her back. “I’m glad to hear it.”

She’d forgiven him a long time ago, and she loves him despite his flaws anyways, which is the only reason Riza agreed to something so banal and frivolous as a wedding. She’s always purported herself as Roy’s shield, and being his wife doesn’t mean that she’s changed her mind about that. “I don’t care what my grandfather says, I hope you aren’t expecting children from me.”

Roy laughs, breathless and free as he pulls Riza down for a chaste kiss. “Never.”

Now that they’re allowed this—allowed to _be_ this way, she whispers the words she’s never said aloud before.

And Roy whispers them back, a shared secret in the dead of night.

* * *

_epilogue_

Mustang’s coronation is met with more fanfare than Grumman’s of ten years previous, where the Amestrians had come off of the heel of several never-ending wars, with a small group of people and one demi-human having fended off the inevitable death of their strictly-bordered country.

For the most part, everything really _is_ exactly the same. Mustang has his team transferred to the Capital Estate, appropriately delegating his duties at an even higher level than before. He loses sleep, but he doesn’t care, because he’s finally, _finally_ realizing his dream, and it’s worth it.

Fuery still works communications, Havoc still tries to keep a girlfriend, and Hawkeye—well, most of the office calls her _Captain Riza_ now, given that her last name isn’t actually Hawkeye anymore—makes sure that Mustang stays on task, maintaining a strict sense of brutal professionalism in the office.

There are two very subtle changes. Around lunchtime, she allows her husband to doze off for a few minutes, carding her fingers through his hair when it’s time for him to get up, and the two of them leave for his private quarters like clockwork every day, though Mustang complains that there’s too much to do to rest.

In those instances, Riza’s tone is cutting even though the smile on her face is beatific. “Don’t worry, sir. If you try to sneak back to the office or take work home with you, I’ll be happy to fire a warning shot into your foot.”

It’s both a threat and a promise, so Mustang bids the rest of his crew good night, though nobody can say that he looks altogether _upset_ about being dragged away from the office instead of being dragged _into_ it by his once-subordinate and now-wife.

Part of his responsibilities as the new leader of the country include making sure he’s healthy enough to run it for a long, long time, and there’s nobody more well-suited for keeping Roy on task than Riza Mustang.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! i haven't thought about these two or fmab in a while and. i love them :') ♡
> 
> →[twitter](https://twitter.com/quillifer)💓  
> →[tumblr](http://quillifer.tumblr.com/)💓


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